Prandial encounters
by Cariad
Summary: 1:Booth's morning run gives him some space to think. 2:Bonding over hot chocolate. 3: Booth's office. 4: Arguing about water
1. Breakfast

**Disclaimer** - Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else.

**A/N** - Started out as 'mmm... Booth running...' but I think it's ended up as what will be the start of a series of fairly fluffy meal / snack based BB encounters. Go figure.

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Booth was running. 

His face was a blank mask and his breath steamed warmly in the chilly, early morning air.

The greyish dawn had been and gone, but the newly risen sun was still struggling to illuminate the city.

Booth's long stride was relentless and deliberate.

He headed past the East Building of the National Gallery of Art and towards the Capitol Reflecting Pool.

Ice and frost glittering dully in the sluggish light.

He'd never much liked jogging. While he'd acknowledge that it was good exercise, the main motivation for his early morning runs was the opportunity to think and clear his head.

So three times a week, he'd get to work an hour early and set out on a long loop around the manicured paths of the National Mall.

He wasn't the only one out there, despite the time of day and the temperature, but most of his fellow joggers were plugged in. Booth preferred to run with no musical accompaniment; just to the steady, regular thump of his feet hitting the tarmac.

His eyes were tracking the passing scenery as he moved, but his gaze never lingered on an object or a person for very long. Looking, but not seeing. Focused internally instead.

The Reflecting Pool hardly registered as he passed it.

Heading down the Mall, he began his stepped progress across the gridline main paths. It made his route longer, but also meant that he was not constantly staring at the towering Washington Monument, wondering if it was getting any closer.

His sports kit was deliberately scruffy amongst the steady flow of lycra and high tech fabrics. He wore a loose, short-sleeved t-shirt with a faded logo over a thin, but warm long-sleeved base layer. In deference to the near-freezing conditions his legs were encased in jogging pants. His shorts wouldn't make it out of the drawer until late spring.

Only his running shoes, the only equipment that actually mattered, were top of the line.

He'd opted not to wear a hat, knowing that he'd heat up unbearably if he kept his head covered, but that meant that his ears were glowing pink in the cold air

Although the grass all around him and each bench, railing and lamp post were coated in a heavy frost; the path was clear of ice. His shoes crunched on the salt crystals from the grit.

He powered on past the National Air and Space Museum.

While a small part of his mind was occupied with tracing his route and feeling his body strain to meet the punishing pace he was setting, most of his attention was elsewhere.

The first five minutes had burnt off yesterday's frustration with an uncooperative suspect.

Half a mile and he'd decided how he would approach Rebecca about having Parker for an extra night in two week's time.

Until his second mile, he deliberated over some of his live cases. The introspection afforded by exercise allowing him to recall disparate bits of evidence and make connections. He had cracked more than one case from a flash of inspiration that came to him while running.

But come mile three, there was only one thought in his head: Bones.

It was always the same. His route took him not far from her building, but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd been running on the moon. When all the incidentals, minor problems and work had been got out the way, there was no way to avoid thinking of her.

He upped the pace again, hoping perhaps to drive her out of his head, but it seemed that she couldn't be dislodged from his consciousness even by a lung-straining sprint.

He hadn't seen her for a week.

Not since they'd closed their last case.

It had been straightforward and they'd had it licked in four days.

Cue the usual satisfaction that greeted 'case closed,' a shared smile, a few words of genuine praise of the other's contribution and then a polite goodbye.

She'd gone back to her real job.

He'd gone back to a mountain of paperwork.

It wasn't as if he wanted some awful case with skeletal remains to identify, he told himself.

It would be wrong, totally wrong for a law enforcement agent to be wishing for such a thing.

He just wanted to see her.

He'd reached the lowest point of his loop and started to head back, taking the opportunity to push the pace again.

He was struggling to stop himself gulping in air to feed his overtaxed and straining muscles. He didn't need the insistent beep of the monitor on his arm to tell him that his heart rate was well over his training zone and pushing his maximum limit.

Focusing on steadying his breathing, he wondered if it was just _want_. It felt a lot more like _need_.

Just like his body desperately needed more oxygen; he needed to see her.

He remembered their light-hearted discussion about whether she had missed him, months before.

If he'd thought he'd missed her then, how did he quantify his feelings now?

There wasn't enough of his run left for him to figure that one out.

Then he remembered the suggestion he'd made to her then: '_Next time you know, you miss me, pick up the phone, call me, we'll do lunch or something.'_

As the Hoover building began to loom larger in his vision, he had to admit that it was an option.

He could call her after his shower, a casual invite.

No big deal.

A friend thing.

That was settled then.

Lunch.

As he wondered if she'd be free today, he realised that his pace had slacked right off and he speeded up again.

The clock on a nearby building told him he had twenty minutes to shower and grab something to eat before he had to present himself at his desk.

He stopped at the light, waiting to cross Pennsylvania Avenue, hanging onto the signal box as he tried to bring his breathing under control and wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

The walk sign came on, and he jogged across the road. His pace slowed as he approached his building, his attention riveted on the figure wrapped up against the cold, standing in the shelter of the Hoover Building's looming entranceway.

He peered at the figure wondering if he was imagining things. No, he'd know that slight, upright figure anywhere.

He closed the distance and found himself face to face with the object of his fixation.

"Bones?" He asked, before leaning over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

She smiled at him shyly and pulled two brown paper bags out from behind her back, "I thought you might like breakfast..."

"Breakfast? " He repeated in confusion.

Her smiled faded, "Uh, I've got a meeting in the hotel over the road. When I saw your office... I..." She trailed off, "I'm sorry, I should of called... you're busy."

She started to edge away, but Booth's brain finally caught up with what was happening and his arm shot out to forestall her.

"Breakfast sounds perfect." He smiled at her widely, then settled his hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the doorway, "You know the way up to my office. I'll be up in five."

She turned to look at him questioningly as they stood in the doorway.

"Come on Bones, I seriously need a shower."

She inclined her head in agreement, but her eyes lingered on his flushed face, the sheen of sweat on his skin and the rapid beat of his pulse in his neck.

Then they turned and walked into the building, shoulders touching, walking absolutely in synch.

* * *


	2. Interlude: a hot drink on a rainy night

**Disclaimer **- Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else.

**A/N **- A big thank you for the kind reviews of chapter 1 of this story. (I hate the title of this story by the way, but couldn't think of anything else!)

Quick explanation of the structure for this story - there's a linear story (odd numbered chapters) intercut with random scenes from the past (even numbered chapters) that don't fit into the progression of the story, but do fit the theme. Basically it's because I have an idea for a nice fluffy plot and some one-shot ideas that don't fit into its progression. Hopefully it'll become clear as I write it!

* * *

**Interlude: A hot drink on a rainy night**

The first time he'd done it; the gesture had been abrupt and unexpected, which had meant that her initial response hadn't been very gracious.

In her defence, it had been a long night and they'd only worked a couple of cases together at that point.

And it was fair to say that at least half the time their working relationship _wasn't_ - as in not working at all.

They still spent far too much time butting heads advocating their own particular way of doing things. In truth they hadn't learnt to recognise the other's strengths yet; let alone rely on them.

If someone had described the easy ebb and flow that they had now settled into, they would both have laughed the idea out of the room - and then looked at one and other in surprise when they realised that they'd found _something_ that they agreed about.

But even then, the promise of how it would be _was_ already there.

So naturally, when they were driving back from a crime scene late in the night after longs hours in the freezing rain, Booth had noticed that she was shivering.

They weren't speaking - so he hadn't said anything - but he'd pushed up the heater in the car.

The jagged silence was the result of a lengthy argument at the edge of the pit that had been _inexpertly_ dug out by the FBI crime scene team.

Booth hadn't appreciated the criticism of the men and women standing all around him, wet and cold from standing knee deep in mud and rain all day and who'd done their best to protect the remains from the elements. Temperance had been utterly frustrated to be brought in to use her expertise only to find that the site was compromised and that half the evidence was gone already. It didn't help that Booth had looked at her expectantly, the half smile on his lips telling her that he was waiting for her to work her usual miracles.

They'd stopped fighting after slowly becoming aware of their gaping audience, but further conversation between _Agent Booth_ and _Bones_ had been minimal and neither had said a word after they'd climbed wearily into the SUV, rain water pooling at their feet.

Booth had the driving and lousy weather to concentrate on. Temperance had contented herself with turning away to stare fixedly out her window.

But now that he'd realised that she was cold, he couldn't help but look over anxiously a few moments later. He'd frowned and gripped the wheel tighter when he saw how pale she was and the tension in her jaw that suggested that she was clamping it shut to avoid her teeth chattering.

He started to peer intently at the road signs and five minutes later swung off into a gas station.

Temperance didn't look away from her window and ignored him as he got out, so she didn't see him walk straight past the pump and head towards the adjoining diner.

She felt the blast of cold air when he opened the door again and reached into the back of the SUV. She was about to tell him to pull it closed, when he stretched over and dropped an FBI sweater and a fleecy blanket in her lap and pressed a hot paper cup into her hand.

She looked up at him her eyes widening in surprise. His expression had been unreadable.

They held each other's eyes for a moment, but when she didn't say anything Booth had looked away.

"I'm going to fill up." He gestured to the pump, "You go ahead and get warm."

Then he'd slammed the door and stood with back against the SUV filling the tank.

She'd sat unmoving for a long moment before hurriedly putting the cup down and shrugging out of her soaking coat and wringing top.

She'd breathed in his scent as she'd pulled the sweater over her head.

Not that she'd admit that that was why she'd immediately grabbed the cup and inhaled the sickly sweet aroma of hot chocolate, banishing the strange jolt she'd felt as his warm, comforting scent had settled around her.

Then she'd wrapped the blanket around herself and taken slow sips of her drink - some part of her mind registering that it was made exactly the way she liked it.

When Booth had got back in, she'd noticed the way that his eyes checked that she was okay without saying anything.

She'd glanced out her window again, before catching him stealing another glance.

Their gazes had locked and she heard herself say 'thank you.'

After a moment they'd both begun to smile.

Then Booth had pulled away from the gas station and she'd settled back into her seat.

They were still quiet, but the oppressive silence had now lifted, and the space between them was filled with the wordless communication of tiny gestures and little glances which would become so familiar as their partnership matured.


	3. Booth's office

**Disclaimer** - Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else.

**A/N** - Back to the 'plot' - I use the term loosely... Any feedback would be most welcome...

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Temperance sat awkwardly on the chair in Booth's office, waiting. She was still clutching the paper bag containing her breakfast offering. 

Then she turned towards the doorway in response to a tapping noise. An older agent, not one she could recall meeting, stood in the doorway.

"Dr Brennan?" The man asked, and at her nod he continued, "Agent Booth is not in the office right now."

Temperance suppressed a sigh of impatience, "I know." The agent blinked, "I'm waiting for him to come up. We met on the way in, he... had some things to do first."

It seemed that the agent was peering at her a bit more closely, before he nodded twice, smiled and said, "Loved the book by the way."

Temperance smiled back politely, really not wanting to get in a conversation with a fan this early in the morning. She also liked to be Dr Brennan the FBI's consultant, not Dr Brennan the author when she was on FBI property.

He seemed to sense her reluctance to talk and pushed away from the door with a wave.

Temperance turned back and glared at Booth's empty chair. She wondered if he'd mind if she shut the door and closed the blinds on the windows of his office. She couldn't understand what was so fascinating about her visiting Booth. It wasn't as if she was an infrequent visitor. Nevertheless, five people had now told her that Booth wasn't in during the short journey from the elevator to his office and in the five minutes she had been sitting waiting. What was even more odd was that they all knew who she was - she only knew one of the people who had spoken to her by name and, unless she was being very forgetful, three were total strangers.

She frowned, unsure of how to take her apparent notoriety.

Her eyes travelled around Booth's familiar office. She edged a stacks of papers forward on his desk and cleared a space to put their breakfast.

She shook her head slightly as she realised how much paperwork Booth stacked neatly on his desk. He always had large piles, but she was sure that it was worse than normal. She remembered Booth complaining about the impossibility of a clear desk policy when there were 'so many damned forms to fill in.'

She wondered if he'd stashed her latest application for a firearm somewhere in the midst of it all.

She continued her inspection of his room and her gaze came to rest of a group of photo frames on his desk. She recognised the silver-etched frame, it had been a gift from her and contained a stunning picture of Parker, which Angela had taken. She felt pleased that Booth had liked the gift enough to keep it on his desk.

She frowned at the other frame, leaning round to try to see the image it contained before she could stop herself.

When she realised what she was doing, she flushed in embarrassment. _Why was she invading Booth's privacy?_ _Mind you if Booth didn't want people to see the photo he wouldn't put it on his desk._

She shook her head slightly in an attempt to dislodge the temptation to peek and laced her hands together on her lap, deciding that she had better not look around the office any more or she'd be finding new things to poke around in.

Cheated of an immediate distraction, Temperance's thoughts turned to the man himself. She wouldn't have been able to explain what had brought her along to Booth's office this morning, but she knew that when she had seen him jogging over she had felt something in her relax and her mood had lifted immeasurably.

She brushed at an unruly lock of hair in distraction, wondering why she had felt like that.

She saw Booth all the time, she paused as out of nowhere '_not for a week!' _leapt out of her thoughts. She caught her lip between her teeth, worried, _did this mean that she was missing Booth? _

The inner voice was back, this time yelling _'hell yes.' _

She sighed and sat back in the chair, her eyes closing as she recalled his appearance earlier, his face had been red with exertion, his body bathed in sweat, but she'd still had to resist the temptation to reach for him.

Her eyes flew open and her stomach turned over at that thought. She looked around wildly as she admitted to herself that she found Booth attractive, even when he was hot and out breath from a punishing early morning run.

The rational part of her mind sternly informed her that Booth was clearly an attractive man and that it was only natural that she should notice this. Being drawn to him from a purely physical perspective was nothing to be concerned about.

She tried to shie away from recognising that Booth's physical attractiveness was not the first thing that came to mind when she thought about him, or when she got that strange warm feeling in her chest. Unfortunately her logical mind wouldn't let her deny the evidence, and she had to acknowledge that it was his smile, the way he looked at her; his aura of confidence and his very real skill at his job, as well as his unshakeable faith in her and his willingness to challenge her that drew her to him.

Her shoulders slumped as, for a moment, she admitted that there was a lot to like about Seeley Booth. A lot that _she_ liked; a lot.

She was drawn from her musing with a jump as a voice called from the doorway, "Hey Bones."

She turned in her chair, flushing guiltily, and watched Booth walk into the room.

He flashed her his wide, charming grin and then dragged his chair from the other side of his desk.

He shrugged in response to her raised eyebrow.

"Feels like I'm interviewing you if I sit over there." He explained and then looked at her expectantly.

Temperance was momentarily distracted by his still damp and ruffled hair and his hastily tightened tie. She felt a strange thrill that the always immaculately turned out FBI agent had rushed his usual preparations to be with her.

"Coffee Bones?" He asked hopefully.

Temperance forced her face not to fall as she began to wonder if he had just rushed up for his coffee and a pastry.

After a moment's pause, she reached over the bag and lifted out his espresso and a danish. Both his favourites.

As she handed them over, their fingers brushed and Temperance's eyes jerked up to his as she felt a spark of electricity down her arm. She looked away hastily, but she had caught a similar look of surprise in his brown eyes.

She thought that he was going to let it go unremarked, when he reached across squeezed her hand gently, "Thanks Bones."

This time when their eyes met, they held each other's gaze.

* * *

(TBC) 


	4. Interlude: water

**Disclaimer **- Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else.

**A/N **- Thanks for the lovely reviews of this story so far. I decided to try to find something totally silly for them to be arguing about and to have a silent resolution. Apologies if the formatting turns out a bit odd on this, but I've just bought a new computer with a different web browser and not all the options are appearing... Feedback very gratefully received.

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**Interlude - Water **

Considering that Booth was usually trying to find some way to refer to her ineptitude in dealing with people at least once a day, Temperance thought that she was being very considerate.

She was, after all, just trying to help him.

After four cases since getting back from Guatemala, she'd realised that his increasingly tetchy mood in the afternoons was usually down to the simple fact that he didn't keep himself hydrated.

She'd tried explaining that his ability to concentrate, his patience and even his reasoning skills were being impaired by his insistence on drinking nothing but espresso for most of the day.

He looked at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses and had grumpily stomped off to get another coffee and berate some poor local cop.

Temperance had watched him standing a few metres way with his hands on his hips and waving his coffee cup to emphasise his points, and wondered how it was possible for someone who was pretty intelligent to be so illogical.

She'd mentioned it again in the long car journey back into DC and Booth's frown had darkened as she talked about the physiological processes involved.

After five minutes of explanation, she had heard his temper snap with an almost audible crack. He turned to her and issued one of his sharp, 'Bones - the case!' commands; a phrase - and a tone - that she was learning to detest.

So she'd given up.

Temporarily.

She didn't see why she needed to put up with her partner operating less effectively than he could do for no sensible reason, but she'd also realised that Booth was not going to respond to logic or her reasonable explanations, so she'd need to try something different to get his attention.

So when Booth pulled up at the Jeffersonian in his black SUV at 11:00am on a very hot day, she was sitting waiting for him on the steps, sipping from a bottle of water.

Booth had gotten out and walked over to greet her, pulling off his sunglasses to smile and look her in the eyes.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that she rather liked this innate, almost old-fashioned courtesy, although if she wouldn't have admitted it if someone had asked.

She also wouldn't have admitted that she liked his warm smile or that she noticed the way his eyes lit up as they encountered hers.

So she'd just smiled and capped the bottle while saying, "Morning Booth."

"Bones." He'd acknowledged with a further quirk of his lips and then he'd held out his hand to help her up.

She'd taken his offered hand, not thinking about the comfortable feeling that settled over her as he clasped her hand in his or the way that the contact lingered for just a fraction of a second longer than it really needed to.

Before she knew it, he'd reached down and picked up her case in one hand, while the other settled on her back, steering her towards the car.

They'd walked over at an easy pace, making idle conversation about the unseasonably warm weather. She clambered into the SUV and stashed her bottle in the door and she settled her smaller backpack at her feet, pulling out a second chilled bottle, which she'd handed solemnly to Booth as he'd turned towards her while doing up his seatbelt.

The sunglasses were back in place, but she didn't miss the raised eyebrow. She'd smiled winningly at him, not saying anything.

Booth had hesitated for a long moment, holding her gaze, before his hand closed around the icy bottle with a half sigh.

He'd taken the bottle, shaking his head ruefully before concentrating on pulling out into the traffic.

Temperance had allowed herself a tiny smile of victory as she looked out her side window, before turning back to face front in time to hear a quiet voice say "Thanks Bones."

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